


Work It Out

by SalamanderInk



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Brief Appearance of a Foot Fetish, Competence Kink, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Erotic Workout, Getting Together, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, M/M, Misuse of Exercise Equipment, Seduction, Strength Kink, Unconventional Sex Toys, Warning: Loki (Marvel), exercise ball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:15:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23666731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalamanderInk/pseuds/SalamanderInk
Summary: Tony thought those plastic exercise balls were just a thing that existed in cheesy workout tapes from the 80s.He was wrong.
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 97





	Work It Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NamelesslyNightlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NamelesslyNightlock/gifts).



> Once again, blame NamelesslyNightlock for this ridiculous oneshot. It is entirely her fault.  
> Though I will admit that I was the one to send her that tumblr post (open at your own risk —or don’t, it’s a spoiler), but my intentions were pure! I promise!  
> Regardless, enjoy, and don’t take it too seriously.

Loki was mesmerizing. 

Granted, it wasn’t the usual adjective one usually ascribed to the mage.

Petty, spiteful, arrogant, _annoying,_ those and many more were common descriptors of the beautiful and flirty _menace_ that had taken residence in the Stark household. 

The truth was, Loki had come from nowhere. Mostly. Fury had talked to Tony about a supersecret spy club, then rejected him on hand, and then, not three months afterwards, dumped a supposed demi-god space mage on his lap like one would a recalcitrant kitty. 

“You deserve each other!” he’d said. 

Tony would have very much _wished_ Loki had thought the same, because he’d wanted to tap that from practically day one. 

Obviously, Loki did not, or if he did, he hid it rather well. That never stopped him from being a snarky asshole, or an incorrigible tease, but at this point, Tony was rather used to it. 

He believed they had an understanding. They might even be something like friends, for all that Tony might have enjoyed to go a bit further than that. 

Life went on as it usually did. They coexisted in Tony’s penthouse floors, exchanging snarks and barbs, sometimes more meaningful conversations, sometimes significant looks, but usually they mostly left each other more or less alone to live their own lives. 

And then Loki went and did something that completely short-circuited Tony’s brain. 

The thing was, Loki was clever. He might be just as smart as Tony, or maybe a bit more, but that could easily be put down to the many more years of experience under his belt. 

So Loki was brilliant. He had _magic,_ and that never stopped to make Tony turn into an absolute fanboy, and maybe want to pester him with questions until Loki lost patience and actually turned him into a toad for real. 

It hadn’t happened yet, but it very well _might._ Tony only had so much restraint, and Loki didn’t seem to have any. 

All of that already gave Tony enough of a boner to want to drag the trickster to his bed. His snarky sense of humor, the ridiculous pranks he pulled on the people who annoyed him—and sometimes, on people who annoyed _Tony,_ which made him feel all warm inside for reasons he refused to contemplate—were only a cherry on top of the cherry flavored cupcake, on top of the cherry tiered cake. 

All in all, that meant that Tony was _absolutely screwed,_ because Loki was not only the perfect brain, he also had the perfect body to match. 

And he was currently flaunting this _very fine_ body, and it’s ridiculous _flexibility_ , in the middle of Tony’s living room. 

Ostensibly, Loki was ‘exercising’. Which meant that he’d found a fitness channel amongst the thousand Tony had available, and instead of _using the perfectly serviceable gym,_ where Loki could have all the privacy in the world to practice his acrobatics in peace, he decided to do so in Tony’s _living room._

And so, here was Tony, frozen on the doorway of his home, still dressed in the suit he’d been wearing at the board meeting, slowly getting strangled with his own tie as he watched Loki bouncing on an exercise ball—which, _where had it even come from?_ —wearing yoga pants and a very very tight tank top that showed off more of his lithe and muscled form than anything he’d ever worn before. 

His hair was pulled up in a ponytail, exposing the nape of a long, slender neck. 

His feet were _bare._

Tony forced a swallow. His pants felt very tight, all of a sudden. 

So were Loki’s. They looked _soft._

 _So much easier to remove than the usual painted-on leather breeches._

On the screen, the instructor kept going through his motions, ridiculous moves of some sort of aerobic, lifting one leg or the over, bending the torso, and so and so. Tony didn’t care, barely paid attention to his nasally voice buzzing in the background. 

If he had, he might have noticed earlier the way Loki absolutely did not follow the instructor's directions. He might have noticed something was amiss. He might have questioned Loki’s purposes. 

Then again, it was unlikely that he would have actually guessed what his absolute _menace_ of a houseguest was actually doing. 

His eyes could not drag themselves away from Loki’s powerful body, captivated by the lethal grace in every single one of his moves, the way he made the ungainly routine look like a dance, like the most erotic and fluid choreography Tony had ever witnessed. 

It screamed danger, coiled passion and restraint, the absolute mastery of his own body, perfect balance and impossible flexibility. 

Loki twirled and bent, lifted his legs and spun, showing off balance and weightlessness, scissoring his legs and falling forwards, folding onto himself before rising up, slowly, gradually, back arched as though he was being lifted by a higher entity, arms extended to the side as if in supplication. 

Time stopped. 

Tony held his breath. 

And Loki fell, bending back until his shoulders almost touched the ground, lying prone on the ball. 

A beat on the music before he fluidly lifted himself back up, moving with all the elegance and fragility of a dancer and blending it with the bleeding edge of danger and purpose of an assassin. 

He made it look easy, as though curling into himself in a deadly facsimile of a foetal position while perched perched on top of a plastic ball was not a feat beyond what most humans were capable of. As though pushing himself back up just through the sheer power of his abs was not a feat of strength that would have most men sweating like pigs. 

No, Loki made it look easy, natural, _beautiful._ All the while never once removing his perfect ass from that blasted exercise ball. 

Tony wanted to be that ball. 

He wanted nothing more than to fall at Loki’s feet and beg the god to take his worship, to lay at his mercy and let him do whatever he wished with him. He wanted to see those deft hands caress his skin, those nimble legs take hold of him, those graceful feet caress the bulge on his trousers. 

Tony had never thought about feet like that before. 

Tony had never thought about _anyone_ like that before. 

He was not the submissive type. He was not even an especially _lustful_ type. Or a pining one. 

He didn’t even know he _had_ a type. 

He usually didn't care about people, didn’t _want them,_ not for any length of time, not for more than a quick romp through the sheets, or a simple moment of appreciation. 

He wondered if Loki knew that he’d been cultivating a full blown _obsession_ in Tony’s mind. Wondered if it was on purpose, just to toy with the annoying mortal he was saddled with. 

Tony carefully tramped down the sad, hopeful part of him that wondered if Loki was doing it because Tony’s interest was reciprocated. That type of wishful thinking was what brought down greater men than he. Tony knew better than to touch anyone without an explicit invitation. 

Knew better than to delude himself. 

And on that note, the music stopped, Loki finally seated like a normal person on that damned ball, stretching his arms up like one would after having spent hours sitting in a cramped desk chair, and not having done a full workout like… _that._

Tony’s eyes dragged over the mage once more, almost against his will, caught in the magnetic force of all that made _Loki._

In his defense, it was hard not to be mesmerized by his svelte form, by his cunning smirk and the alluring glance he sent him through the corner of his eyes, or the way his body moved, always deliberate, ever graceful, a perfect blend of danger and playfulness. 

Tony had never been more aroused. 

And then, Loki planted both hands on the ball, and _lifted his hips._

_And lifted more._

And Tony watched, incredulous, absolutely _flabbergasted,_ as something long and thin seemed to connect Loki’s ass to the ball, and the more Loki lifted his hips up, the longer that thing seemed to be, of the same electric green color of the exercise ball—because, apparently, everything Loki touched turned out to be green somehow—and _was that a dildo sticking out of that ball?_

Loki smirked at him, hips undulating fluidly as he slowly slid himself off the rubber cock, eyes hooded as they stared Tony down. 

His body was arched, a long smooth line from head to toe with his hips prominently pushed forward, perfectly balancing between his toes and hands as though it was just _so easy_ , as though holding himself steady on a plastic ball was just a piece of cake, _a fucking cherry tiered cake._

His hips were still lifting upwards, revealing more and more of that monstrous dildo, Loki’s head tilting back in a sensual groan, baring the long delicious line of his throat. 

Tony wanted to bite it, to mark up that creamy expanse of vulnerable flesh, if only to stop Loki from looking so goddamn smug, to give him a lesson for being such a fucking _tease, and oh god, how long was that thing?_

And then, with one last push of his hands, Loki was off, straight and proud like a gymnast after performing his routine before relaxing, cocking his hips to the side. 

Loki’s head tilted, throwing that ponytail back over his shoulder, and then, with a coy little smirk, he winked at him. 

Tony had never wanted anyone more. 

He’d never wanted to punch anyone more either. 

His cock was throbbing in his pants, that monstrosity of an exercise ball was glistening with lube, Loki was being a fucking tease and _what the fuck was his life?_

And then that fucking minx had the gall to lick his lips, looking straight to his eyes, and say: 

“So, now that I’ve tried out your realm’s famed ‘rubber cock’...”

Tony let out a shamefully strangled noise at hearing Loki utter the word cock. His own, down in his pants, throbbed angrily back at him, protesting the way its needs were being ignored.

The look Loki sent him in return was dreadfully _knowing,_ and Tony had never felt so wrongfooted before. 

“...I do wonder what the ‘iron cock’ feels like. Does it compare, you think?” 

Tony’s mind blanked, all thoughts process coming to a swift end as Loki turned back on these words, sashaying back to his rooms and showing off the way the leggins were cut at the back and exposing his bare ass to him, reddened and leaking from his _vigorous workout,_ and Tony just _couldn’t._

Loki’s words took an embarrassingly long time to fully compute. 

But after that, in the mess of thrown clothes and teasing looks, after heated caresseess and bites and a thorough _workout_ for Tony as he proved without a shred of doubt the absolute superiority of the real thing, _after that,_ as they laid in a sated tangle of limbs on the living room couch—they never actually reached Loki’s room—, with that _fucking plastic ball-dildo_ still in the living room... 

Tony rather thought that he’d been right all along. 

Loki _was_ mesmerizing. 

He was a mess, a whirlwind, a _fucking trickster,_ and he’d been just as fascinated with Tony as Tony had been with him. 

So he’d made himself fascinating, because Loki could become everything he wanted to be so long as it was still _himself,_ and he’d set out to seduce Tony _for keeps._

That the last stanza of his great ploy was the _thing_ still rolling on itself on his carpet was… 

It was just hilariously _Loki._

Tony wouldn’t have him any other way. 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so i saw that the tumblr link died (which probably stopped a lot of people from spoilering themselves, but, here might work?   
> otherwise, a friend found this
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment and tell me what you thought!  
> I hope you enjoyed :3


End file.
